


Break (Withstand)

by Resilur



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Gen, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-10-25 21:21:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20730944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Resilur/pseuds/Resilur
Summary: “You know, this’ll be a lot easier on you if you just talk.”Shiro has been captured.





	Break (Withstand)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lunarium](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunarium/gifts).

There was no light in Shiro’s cell.

At first he’d hoped that there was at least some shred for his eyes to adjust to, but eventually had to accept the total lack.

Though calling it a prison cell almost felt generous – it was small enough that when he stood in the middle all four walls were in easy reach. It was completely featureless save for the seam of the door; he may not have gotten a good look when he was tossed in here, but he’d since pawed over every inch, desperate for _something_ he could do. There was utter silence save for the vague hum of the ship and whatever sounds he made himself.

He had no idea how long he’d been here.

At least he knew the rest of the team had made it out. He just had to hold onto to that.

\---

The isolation was fast becoming maddening.

The cell was too small to properly pace in, but the longer he stayed trapped in here, the more he desperately needed to _move_. He couldn’t even take two full strides before meeting the wall – he’d push off of it with his hand at each turn, but it wound up as barely more than spinning, leaving him dizzy and sick.

He circled the perimeter instead, changing direction at odd intervals. (Some vague feeling told him that routine was deadly, the first step to losing yourself. It felt almost like a memory, and he tried very hard not to delve deeper.) At one point he’d started practically throwing himself at the walls; the noise and mild pain helped keep him grounded.

It was impossible to tell how much time had passed. All he knew was that his hunger and thirst had grown from slight discomfort to gnawing, stabbing, aches and cramps.

It was getting harder and harder to move.

\---

Shiro could barely even stand up anymore, between the pounding of his head and the shakiness in his legs. He sat slumped against the wall, tracing the contours of his flight suit with his hand – practically the only sensation he had left to remind himself that he was here, that he was still alive.

He’d tried talking to himself, humming, _anything_, but it had only increased how trapped and alone he felt, as well as the pain in his head and throat.

But then there was a new sound. At first he thought he might just be imagining it, but as it grew louder – closer – he finally managed to place it.

Footsteps.

He hissed as a sudden light flooded into his cell, and he barely had time to react before the two guards were grabbing at him, yanking him harshly to his feet.

They didn’t say a word as they pulled him down the hall. He couldn’t even keep his eyes open against the dim lighting of the ship, and he stumbled with nearly every step, the guards’ grasp the only thing keeping him upright.

A particularly bad slip made him pitch sideways into one of the guards, and they dropped him to the ground with a curse. Shiro tried to lever himself up onto his knees, but was stopped by a sharp kick to the stomach. With a rasping cry, he curled around the boot, nearly whiting out from the pain.

He felt claws scrape across his scalp, and suddenly he was being dragged backwards by the hair. He tried to struggle, feet scrambling uselessly against the floor as the guard continued hauling him. He pulled and scratched at the hand in his hair, trying to loosen its grip, but was simply ignored.

Shiro still hadn’t given up when he was suddenly flung to the ground, gasping as his head hit the floor. His vision swam.

Then he was slammed into the wall, not even having had time to register the hard kick. A sharp pain in his side told him it had probably broken a rib.

He must have passed out, because the next thing he knew, he was being strapped into a chair.

His was pulled back by the hair, and something was pressed against his lips. Water poured into and past his mouth. It was tepid, with a strange metallic tang – and yet it was the most wonderful thing he’d ever tasted.

He’d barely managed a few sips before it was pulled away, and he couldn’t help the whimper that slipped out.

“Now, now. That bit was a gift, there, but if you want any more, you’re going to have to earn it.” Shiro forced his eyes to focus on the Galra standing before him. He appeared to be an officer of some sort – Shiro still hadn’t learned all their ranks – and had a small but clear smile on his face.

Shiro refused to speak, simply glaring at him with as much fierceness as he could muster – which, admittedly, wasn’t much at the moment. The officer continued to smile blandly as he slowly tipped the cup, letting water stream to the floor.

Shiro nearly lunged forward, gaze latched onto it. He desperately tried to swallow back his hunger and thirst, tensing up.

The officer stopped pouring, and held the cup out toward him. “Don’t worry. There’s still a little left.” He didn’t seem at all bothered by Shiro’s continued silence; instead, he smiled wider, placing the cup off to the side.

Then he picked up a short tool, sparks snapping at one end. She could feel the heat from two feet away.

The officer slowly walked behind him. “You know, this’ll be a lot easier on you if you just talk,” he said, before immediately jamming the tool into the junction of Shiro’s thigh.

Shiro screamed.

\---

“Ah, glad to see you’ve joined us again!”

Shiro simply groaned, the perversely cheerful voice grating across his nerves. Forcing his eyes open, he fought away the bleariness in time to see his torturer stand from where he’d been slouching against the wall. 

He was tossing something up and down in his hand; Shiro felt his stomach drop once he was finally able to make out the shape.

He drew in a shuddering breath, trying to force himself to be calm. He shouldn’t be so panicked at just the sight of a knife! – but his body remembered every slice, every gouge, and he couldn’t stop from tensing in fear.

He finally managed to tear his eyes away from the casually flipping blade, wrenching his head to the side and squeezing his eyes shut.

“Come now, don’t be like that,” his torturer chided. The voice was directly in front of him now, closer than he expected, causing his breath to hitch. _Focus_, he told himself firmly.

His eyes shot open when he felt the knife graze across the knuckles of his left hand. 

He watched in trepidation as the knife was gently run up and down his smallest finger, just barely tickling his skin. But then it twisted suddenly, scraping a wide, bloody path to his nail. Shiro flinched, and barely managed to bite back a scream.

The officer began to poke idly at the wound with the knife’s point, causing sharp pain to radiate up his entire arm. Recognizing that he was being toyed with, Shiro growled lowly, meeting his gaze defiantly. His torturer merely chuckled, completely unbothered.

The point dug roughly into the joint, and this time Shiro couldn’t entirely hold back his cry.

\---

“I really don’t understand why you’re being so stubborn about this.”

Shiro didn’t even attempt to look up at him. Instead, he remained slumped forward in his restraints, breathing heavy and uneven – he was sure he had at least a couple broken ribs on his right side. They were careful to give him enough food and water to keep him alive, keep him conscious, but it was always force-fed through a tube – actually being allowed to eat was a privilege reserved for cooperating.

His torturer walked around behind him. Shiro cringed in reflex, but his ability to actually focus was completely shot by this point.

He didn’t even manage to register the tight grip near his neck before he was slammed upright against the back of the chair.

He coughed and gasped at the sudden pain, shudders wracking his body and making it all so much worse. His torturer waited for him to recover; Shiro knew full well it was not out of kindness.

“It’s just a few simple questions, after all.” He brought a knife around to Shiro’s chest, who couldn’t hold in a sob. “So, let’s try this again.”

He continued to repeat the same questions over and over as he slowly and methodically carved into his captive’s flesh. The small part of Shiro’s mind that wasn’t lost to agony wondered why he even bothered asking at this point; he didn’t think he was capable of answering even if he wanted to, anymore.

After an eternity, the knife was finally pulled away. “I suppose that will do for now.” He gave a sharp laugh, patting Shiro on the head. “By the way, I hope you remembered to smile for the camera…”

Shiro jumped as the next bit was hissed directly into his ear. “And I hope your friends enjoyed the show.”

Coughing, sobbing, it took a long moment for the words to sink in, but finally Shiro managed to force his clouded eyes to focus – and he stared in dawning horror at the recording device floating before him.


End file.
